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Congruence
My son, alas
Looking on the technicolor page
Saw but the picture of a king
Shapes on a paper
Imagination constructing him
Missed the relevance
That such a monarch long dead
Lived only in our head
And so with a boy's innocence
Said one day
I am going to be just like him
It is ten yeras now
My son and dreams are dust
He knows now, I trust
In the end it is all the same
The final flicker of the flame
And none is great, and none ashame
In the teary muttering of a name.
Copyright ©
David Smalling
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